


All of Me

by trancer



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Genderswap, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-10
Updated: 2009-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:56:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trancer/pseuds/trancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana walked into the forest a girl, and walked out a boy. And with every curse, there’s always a price for the cure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All of Me

“Well?”

Morgana shifted her gaze, peering up from between Gwen’s thighs and over the layers of petticoats bunched around Gwen’s waist. She paused momentarily to soak in the sight of Gwen’s unrestrained and heaving breasts - _she has such lovely breasts_ \- until finally tilting her head up enough to see Gwen’s face. Gwen, her cheeks flushed with desire and berry wine, lips swollen from too many kisses parted open and panting wetly, her eyes dark and hooded, staring at Morgana in anticipation. Anticipation of something -

Morgana wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do.

“I just,” Morgana stammered. “I just want you to be sure.”

“Seriously?”

She quickly glanced down between Guinevere’s legs. She’d heard it referred to as a flower but it looked like no flower Morgana had ever laid eyes upon. There were lips and folds and crevices, and it was definitely more swollen and flushed than when Morgana first laid her eyes upon it. Then there was the scent. A heady musk that made Morgana’s chest squeeze with every deep inhale. She’d smelled the scent of her own arousal before, in her most private of moments when curious fingers dipped between her legs only to quickly retreat in embarrassed propriety.

Morgana would never have been embarrassed to admit to Gwen that she was inexperienced in the art of seduction. But, at the moment, Morgana wasn’t quite the young woman she used to be.

She nervously ran her fingers through the growing stubble on her chin. Hair that kept growing back no matter how many times Morgana ineffectively tried to shave it off. It had been then that Guinevere started to believe the tales Morgana had spun to cover her tracks. _Only a nobleman wouldn’t know how to shave his own face_ , Gwen had mused aloud as she ran the blade across Morgana’s cheek.

Morgana had gone into the forest to find a witch. Tired of Uther’s tyranny, Morgana had resolved to end it. And if through the use of magic? So be it. The forest had thickened around her, as if the trees themselves were moving and rearranging before her. A thick mist covered the forest floor, obscuring her path. Morgana panicked and, in unladylike fashion, tripped over her own two feet knocking herself out on a rock.

It was still night when Morgana awoke. But, instinctively, she knew something was different. Wrong. The hair on her face was the first clue, the lack of breasts had been a definite second. Then there was the most horrifying of discoveries and Morgana screamed, with a voice now deeper and a bit more masculine but she screamed nonetheless, until she was sure the Gods themselves could hear her.

She ran back to Camelot. She knew she couldn’t return to the castle. Who would believe the young man dressed in Morgana’s clothes? And once the use of magic, which Morgana had no doubt was involved, was revealed, Morgana had no doubt Uther would have her thrown into the dungeon. A place she’d already been chained once and had no desire to revisit. So she went to the one place she knew she’d be safe - Guinevere’s. Except -

Gwen wasn’t supposed to be home.

**

“Who are you?” she asked and Morgana, backed up against the wall her hands preoccupied with holding up the too-large trousers around her waist, felt the tip of the blade digging into her throat. It was a beautiful sword, Morgana noticed, one of many crafted by Guinevere’s father - another pointless victim of Uther’s tyranny. An observation Morgana should have made at another time. Guinevere’s father made swords, he’d also taught his only child how to wield them, and wield them well.

“I ask you again,” Gwen jabbed the sword deeper and Morgana winced as the blade pierced her skin. “Who are you?”

Morgana spoke the first word that sprung into her mind, the only name that made sense. “Galorus,” she uttered her father’s name.

Guinevere eyed her suspiciously. “And what are you doing in my home, wearing my father’s trousers?”

From there, Morgana’s tongue took on a life of its own, spinning a tale that even took her by surprise.

“Morgana?” Gwen gasped, pulling the sword away from Morgana’s throat. “She’s been taken?”

“Yes.” Morgana exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Suddenly, the sword in Gwen’s hand rose to meet Morgana’s throat once more. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re in MY home wearing my father’s trousers.”

“A nobleman from Mercia, a kingdom with an uneasy treaty with Camelot, just happens to stumble upon the kidnapping of King Uther’s ward? Tell me I wouldn’t be hung the moment the words fell from my lips?” While it didn’t seem to convince Gwen, it gave her pause, which was enough for Morgana. “Your name was the last word I heard her utter.”

“My lady,” Gwen exhaled.

“I thought if I came here first.” The pained expression on Gwen’s face made Morgana’s chest squeeze. She stepped forward all thoughts on comforting her friend, only to stop in her tracks. “You could alert your King. In which time I will already have a head start.”

“A head start?”

“To rescue Morgana.”

Gwen straightened. “Not without me.” She sheathed her sword, turning away from Morgana and began gathering her things. “If what you say is true and Morgana’s been kidnapped, word will arrive quickly enough. And if you plan to rescue her, wouldn’t it be best to have a familiar face with you, someone Morgana trusts instead of a stranger?”

Morgana couldn’t argue with Guinevere’s logic. Not that she would have tried. She’d known Guinevere for too long, knew THAT expression on her face - Guinevere’s resolve face.

Which is how Morgana began her journey as a boy with Guinevere by her side.

**

“She fancies you, you know.”

Morgana peered up from her mug to see Guinevere staring at her with an impish half-smirk. “Who?”

“The bar maid,” Gwen chuffed incredulously. “She’s refilled your mug three times without asking you to pay. And, in case you haven’t noticed, your plate has a bit more food than mine.”

“No,” Morgana glanced at her own plate. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Galorus,” Gwen’s eyes squinted suspiciously even as the corners of her lips pulled into a soft smile. “You’re telling me you didn’t notice when she leaned over you and practically smothered your head with her bosom?”

“Honestly, I hadn’t noticed.”

“You are a man, aren’t you?”

Morgana opened her mouth to object before quickly snapping her lips closed. It had been three days since she and Gwen had left Camelot. She was still adjusting to the whole ‘being in a man’s body’ thing. A process, it turned out, was easier than Morgana would have ever imagined to be. Her hair was shorter, ending at the nape of her neck, her frame lean and angular with broader shoulders. A defined musculature that, while examining her new self in a mirror, impressed even Morgana. Masculine features, still boyish in some ways, with an almost delicate refinement. Morgana had to admit - Galorus was quite.. pretty.

Now, the thought of being the object of another woman’s affections brought forth Morgana’s biggest problem with being a man. She could always hide or desires, her arousals - the flush coloring her cheeks, the rapid rise of her heart, the breath hitching in her throat - all could be excused under the guise of a woman’s delicate sensibilities. But there was no excuse when it looked like someone had shoved a maypole down her trousers!

And it was hard - no pun intended - because she HAD noticed the way women looked at her as she and Gwen traveled from village to village. They gazed at Morgana with looks that ranged from the coy, the flirtatious, to the down right lascivious. The less said about the embarrassing incident with the farmer’s daughter, the better. Because, really, Morgana’s visual experiences with the genitalia of the male species had been few and thankfully very far between (her most recent involved stumbling upon Arthur in the bath and he’d all but shouted that the water was very, very cold) so she was certain HERS was in no way, shape or form similar to a horse’s.

“Well?” Gwen’s voice snapped Morgana from her thoughts.

“Well what?”

“The question at hand is whether or not you are, indeed, a man?”

“Of course I am.”

“And yet you don’t fancy her?” Gwen paused, coyly pulling off a piece of bread and tearing it into smaller pieces. “Maybe it‘s not women you prefer.”

“Of course. No.. Wait!” Morgana stammered, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. _Was being a man making her dumber? That would certainly explain a lot!_ “I can say with full certainty that I prefer the company of women.”

“Really?” Gwen tilted her head with the upturn of an eyebrow. “Then why haven’t you returned the bar maid’s affections?”

“Because,” it was Morgana’s turn to smile, returning Gwen‘s with a cheeky grin of her own. “It’s not the bar maid’s affections I seek.”

Gwen blushed, breaking the eye contact between them suddenly finding something of interest on her plate. “Are you flirting with me, Galorus?”

“With you?” Emboldened, because Galorus could say the things Morgana could not, Morgana placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I wish to do more than flirt.”

**

Morgana hadn’t meant to kiss Gwen. Oh, she’d thought about it long before she’d ever become a boy. Maybe it was the wine, or the conversation, or this new body and how everything she felt seemed so immediate, so urgent. Morgana never would have dared to press Guinevere against the wall, crush their lips together, push her body against Gwen’s offering the woman no chance of escape.

Gwen, in turn, didn’t push Morgana away. Instead, Morgana felt Gwen’s fingers threading into her hair, the hot burn of nails scraping across her scalp, the softness of her lips, the wet heat of her breath.

The wall became a bed. Morgana’s new fingers hurriedly pulled open the laces of Gwen’s bodice. Gwen’s breasts were soft, firm and felt so good in the palms of Morgana’s hands, like they’d been created just for her. And Morgana didn’t just want to touch, she wanted to taste. She kissed her way down Gwen’s neck. Felt the rumble of Gwen’s moan as Morgana rolled an erect nipple between her lips. Teased it with lips, teeth and tongue until Gwen was practically purring beneath her.

Then she felt Gwen’s fingers digging into her shoulders, insistently pushing Morgana lower.

And Morgana found herself between Guinevere’s legs with not the slightest idea what to do. Oh sure, she had her ideas, most of which involved little Galorus who was painfully making its presence known though Morgana was certain Gwen hadn’t shoved her face down here for that.

“Seriously?” Gwen’s voice pulled Morgana from her thoughts.

“I just,” Morgana licked her lips. “Isn’t there someone else you’d rather do this with.”

Gwen’s face softened sweetly, a sentimental smile brightening her face. “There‘s no one I‘d rather be with than you.” She leaned up on an elbow, reaching out with her other arm and cupping Morgana’s cheek. “I’ve been by your side for eight years. Did m’lady really think I wouldn’t recognize her?”

Morgana felt her throat clench and her chest squeeze. Unable to find the words, she expressed herself by moving her body back over Gwen‘s, meeting Gwen’s face to press their lips together. The kiss was passionate but with none of the hurried urgency of before.

“I..I don’t understand,” Morgana gasped, coming up for air. “How did you know?”

“Galorus,” Gwen explained. She chuckled softly. “Then there was that ridiculous story about you being kidnapped.”

“It wasn’t that ridiculous,” Morgana feigned being wounded.

“Yes it was.” Gwen reached up and brushed a hair from Morgana’s face. “But it was your eyes. No one has the eyes of my Mistress. I couldn‘t let you go and find whoever did this to you alone.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I knew you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“And this?” Morgana suddenly became aware of their position, of Gwen’s breasts pressed under Morgana’s chest, the arch of her hips, heat against heat.

“Whatever your form,” she softly brushed her lips across Morgana’s. “There’s no one else I want to do this with.”

Morgana could feel the heat rising within her. “Even if I’m not quite sure what to do.”

“You’re a smart girl,” Gwen shifted as her voice took on a low and sultry tone, her hands finding Morgana’s shoulders and pushing down on them once again. “I’m certain you can figure it out.”

Morgana always considered herself a quick learner and this was definitely something she wanted to master. She started slow, exploring Gwen’s flesh with her tongue, tracing every fold, every line, every crevice. When Gwen moaned or gasped or groaned, Morgana paused and did it again.. and again. Then she found Gwen’s ‘pearl’ and oh how Gwen liked it when Morgana touched her there. Her hips rolled in a languid rhythm, heels digging into Morgana’s back, fingers threading into Morgana’s hair, the grip tightening with every rhythmic swipe of Morgana’s tongue.

But it was the sounds that did it for Morgana. A groaning, mewling that sounded pained even though it was anything but. Morgana wanted this moment to last, to pleasure Gwen forever - her mouth on Gwen’s sex, the arching of Gwen’s hips, the heaving of her breasts, the moaning of her voice.

A keening wail erupted from Gwen’s throat. Her body bucked and writhed so hard, Morgana feared she’d done something wrong. She pulled her mouth away, scrambling back onto the bed.

“Did I hurt you?” She traced her fingers across Gwen’s forehead. “I don’t know what I’d ever do if I hurt you.”

“No,” Gwen exhaled, licking her lips. Languidly, she opened her eyes, gently placing her hand on Morgana’s face, a thumb tracing still wet lips. “My lady could never hurt me.”

“Please, stop calling me that,” Morgana grimaced. “We’re far from Camelot. And I‘m far from a lady.”

“But you’re my Morgana,” Gwen lifted her head, pressing their foreheads together. “You’ll always be my Morgana, MY lady.”

“All of me?”

“Yes,” Gwen smiled, lightly kissing the corner of Morgana‘s mouth. “All of you.”

**

“Guinevere, stop!” Morgana pulled her horse ahead of Gwen’s, unsheathing her sword as she did. “We’re here.”

“How can you tell?”

“The trees,” Morgana’s eyes darted about. “They’ve moved.”

Gwen’s eyes followed Morgana’s to the tree line. The trees had moved. Unnerved, she drew her own sword, following Morgana and dismounting her horse.

“You can’t come with me.”

“Why not?”  
“This is something I have to do alone.” Morgana pleaded with her eyes hoping Gwen would understand. “If I’m not back by dawn, go back to Camelot and tell Arthur.”

“Morgana..”

“Please Gwen.”

Gwen nodded. She took the reins of Morgana’s horse, her fingers grazing over Morgana’s as she did. “You come back to me.”

Morgana smiled softly. She cupped Gwen’s face with a hand. “I will.”

Sword in hand, Morgana walked deeper into the forest. There was no sound, no birds, no wind in the trees, just the crunch of undergrowth and the beating of her own heart. Mist, flowing like a fast current, pooled and billowed around her ankles. The further she walked, the deeper the mist became. It rose from her ankles to her knees up to her chest until she was walking in a dense fog.

The path before her cleared and Morgana found herself at the entrance of a cave. Orange and yellow light flickered across the walls, almost invitingly. Morgana inhaled then stepped inside. Torches affixed to the cave walls directed her through a tight corridor opening into a larger cavern.

Nimueh stood in the center of the cave. She wore a dress of material so thin it bordered on indecent. It exposed every line, every curve, left nothing to the imagination.

“Nimueh!” Morgana gasped. “I thought you were..”

“Dead?” Nimueh’s lips pulled into a smile that was anything but warm. “Hardly.”

Morgana sheathed her sword and stepped deeper into the cavern. “Why have you done this to me?”

“You act as if you haven’t been enjoying yourself, Morgana. Or should I say Galorus,” Nimueh chuckled. She stepped towards a column-shaped rock, the center hollowed and filled with water. Nimueh grazed her fingers over the surface. Morgana watched as the water shimmered then filled with image of Guinevere standing in the forest.

“Such a pretty girl. Did you enjoy deflowering her?”

Morgana’s hand went to the hilt of her sword, tightening around the grip. “Leave Gwen out of this!”

“I have no interest in your servant.” Nimueh removed her hand from the water. The image dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. “I may not have your gift but I do know something of the future.” She paused, licking her lips. “She will betray you.”

“Lies,” Morgana stepped towards Nimueh, unsheathing her sword several inches. “Undo what you have done or I will..”

“WHAT?” Nimueh raised a hand and Morgana froze in place. “What can you, Morgana Le Fay, do to me?” She closed the distance between them. Her eyes still hard her face softened. She placed a hand on Morgana’s face, caressing the features with a finger. “You have no idea of your own power. Power wasted under the aegis of Uther.”

She stepped away from Morgana, turning her back to her as she walked deeper into the cavern. She waved her hand and the spell lifted. Morgana gasped, clenching hand to her chest.

Suddenly, there was a bed. Morgana wasn’t sure if it’d been there the entire time and she hadn’t noticed or if it was another spell of Nimueh’s.

Nimueh sat on the edge, leaning back on a hand. With her other, she traced it down the front of her chest, watching Morgana’s eyes as her fingers cupped a breast, thumb grazing over the stiffened peak of her nipple. “The question you should be asking isn’t what I’ve done to you but why.”

Morgana blinked, shifted her eyes from Nimueh’s breast to the witch’s darkened gaze. It had to be a spell, Morgana thought to herself, desperately trying to regain some semblance of composure. Surely, Morgana didn’t WANT Nimueh. Didn’t want to replace Nimueh’s hand with her own, didn’t want to feel the insides of Nimueh’s thighs with her lips, didn’t want the other dark and carnal thoughts flowing through her mind that made her heart race and her insides clench. Did she? This had to be a spell.

Had to be.

“Why?” The word fell from Morgana’s lips in a pained exhale.

“Do you want me to reverse the spell?”

“Do you always answer a question with a question?”

“I did this because you are the last of the Le Fay. Amongst my kind, that name is still spoken with reverence. I speak of Le Fay and all I see is,” she paused, raking Morgana’s body with a distasteful glare, “wasted potential. Especially as long as your neck remains firmly planted under Uther‘s boot. I did this to give you a taste of the one thing you so desperately crave - freedom.”

“I do not need to be a man to be free.”

Nimueh snorted. “You’re already free then? Free to choose what you wish to do with your life? Free to use your gift openly? Free to choose who you marry. Free to choose who you love. Well then, I guess my work here is done.”

Morgana cast her eyes downward, suddenly unable to look at Nimueh at all. She focused on her hand, the hand that was hers but not hers. Watched as the fingers curled and clenched into a fist. “Whatever the Fates have in store for me, it’s not _this_. This is not me. Not all of me.”

“You want me to reverse the spell?”

“Yes.”

“No matter the cost?”

Morgana exhaled. She turned her head towards the pool of water, thinking maybe Gwen’s reflection would still be there. “No matter the cost.”

**

“Morgana!” Gwen quickly rose to her feet, fast enough to startle the horses. It was still night but the clouds had cleared, the forest illuminated by the dull light of a full moon. Gwen rushed towards her mistress, hurriedly wrapping her arms around the taller woman’s still broad and still very male shoulders. “What happened?”

“I found her? Nimueh.”

“Nimueh,” Gwen gasped. “I thought..”

“Yeah. So did I. But she’s alive. Very,” Morgana paused, taking a glance behind her to make sure she wasn’t followed. “Alive.”

“She didn’t reverse the spell?” Gwen brushed her lips against Morgana’s. Just a day earlier, she never would have dared. Today, it seemed so.. natural. “I’m sorry.”

“She game me the cure.” Morgana reached into her pocket. She held up a small vial, the cloudy bluish-green liquid cast an eerie light between them.

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t want to take it.. in front of her. I wanted to be sure,” Morgana lifted her eyes to meet Gwen‘s. “I wanted YOU to be sure.”

“Me?”

“We could go away, you and I, together. Someplace far from Camelot. Someplace where we can become who WE want to be. Where you’re not just a servant and I’m not just..”

“A man?” Gwen cut her off. She cupped Morgana’s face with both hands. “No matter what, this isn’t you, Morgana. You are not Galorus. Whoever you are, whatever you’re meant to become, you were not meant to be this.” She kissed Morgana again. “And no matter what, I will always be by your side.”

“Thank you,” Morgana whispered softly. She moved back a step, creating a gap between them and raised the vial clenched in her hand. Pulling out the cork, Morgana downed the liquid in one quick swallow. “That wasn’t so bad. Tasted kind of like..”

The words stopped in her throat as a wave of nausea crashed over her. The strength drained from her legs and Morgana collapsed to her knees.

“Morgana!”

She could hear Gwen but the voice sounded muddled and distant like words whispered at the opposite end of a long corridor. Blackness pooled in the corners of her eyes, clouding over her vision until the inky darkness took over.

**

It had been a great hall once. Of that, Morgana was certain. The years had not been kind to it. The marble walls were discolored, cracked and splintered with age and time. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, fading sunlight filtered through cavernous holes illuminating the room with pillars of light that barely cut through the shadows, dark as night, that filled the room.

A round table sat in the center of the room. Like the room it sat it, it had been magnificent once. But time, age and battles lost had taken its toll. The chairs that surrounded it were upended, broken, withered.

Morgana saw a shape moving within the shadows. Nimueh stepped forward, her body nothing more than a silhouette of dark inside the shaft of light. She placed a hand on the back of the only chair left standing.

“What is this place?” Morgana asked.

“Don’t you recognize it?” Nimueh answered. “Don’t you recognize your precious Camelot?”

“No,” Morgana gasped as her eyes searched about the room with a sense of familiarity. “It can’t be.”

“Can’t it? This is your vision, Morgana. Surely, you can feel the truth in the images?”

Morgana stepped deeper into the room. Stopping at the opposite side of the table from Nimueh, Morgana placed a hand on the surface of the table. Images flashed in her mind, faces, some familiar, most unknown, all sitting at places around the table. “Why are you here?”

“We are inextricably linked now, you and I. Had I known this would be an after effect of our union, I would have seduced you much, much earlier.”

Morgana swallowed hard, pulling her eyes away from Nimueh’s dark gaze as her cheeks flushed with remembrance.. and shame.

“Oh come now, Morgana. Don’t pretend as if you didn’t enjoy yourself.”

“I did what I had to do.”

“Did you?”

“What does any of.. that have to do with this? What happened? Who did this?”

“We did this.” Nimueh giggled at Morgana’s shocked expression. “Well, parts of us did. Our connection runs deeper than shared visions now, my dear Morgana.” Nimueh stepped out of the shadow and into the light. She placed her hands on her stomach, caressing the extended and swollen surface. “It’s a boy,” she purred lovingly. “I think I shall call him Mordred.”

**

“NO!” Morgana shrieked, her eyes snapping open, her body flailing upwards and forward into a seated position.

“Morgana!” Gwen placed calming hands softly on Morgana’s shoulders.

“Gwen?” Morgana panted, already she could feel the nightmare images quickly dissipating until all that was left was a fading sense of panic. “I had the most horrible dream.”

“Was it the one where you woke up a boy?” Gwen ran her fingers over Morgana’s forehead, brushing the strands from her face.

“A boy?” The words reawakened new memories, the images sliced through the fog in her brain. Morgana’s hands shot towards her chest, grabbing hold of the firm globes beneath her tunic. Breasts! She had breasts again! Then, just as quickly, her hands went between her legs. “Oh thank heavens!” she cried out, closing her eyes in relief and flopping backwards, her head landing on Gwen’s lap.

“I take it everything’s as it should be?” Gwen chuckled.

“Yes. How long was I out?”

“Not long.”

“Long enough. The sun’s almost up.” Morgana rolled onto her feet. She stretched her arms above her head, luxuriating in the feel of having her old body back. She brought her hands down and immediately noticed the sagging of her clothes. Her new clothes no longer fit her old body.

“Here,” Gwen was there by her side, handing Morgana a satchel of Morgana‘s things. She was always there with exactly what Morgana needed. “I figured you’d need these.”

“You’re too good for me.” Morgana hurriedly pulled the tunic over her head as Gwen politely turned away. Morgana paused at the action. “I thought we were beyond this.”

“What?”

“You being my servant.” Morgana unlooped her belt, letting her trousers fall to the ground and stepping out of them. “You‘re acting as if we‘re already back in Camelot.”

“It’s not that,” Gwen answered, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Then what?”

“You’re naked.”

“If I recall,” Morgana smirked. “This isn’t the first time you’ve seen me in such a way.”

“True, but it is the first since we.. since you..” Flustered, Gwen pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh bugger it!”

Gwen whirled on her heel. She stalked towards Morgana and before Morgana could react, Gwen’s hands were cupping her face, pulling Morgana’s head down towards Gwen’s and crashing their lips together. The kiss was hot, feverish. Gwen’s hands were everywhere, threading in Morgana’s hair, tracing down her spine, curving around her waist, hurriedly groping a breast. Then her fingers trailed lower, sliding between Morgana’s legs and caressing flesh suddenly very warm and very wet, Morgana couldn’t help but come up for air.

“Gwen,” she panted into Gwen’s mouth, feeling Gwen’s fingers match her rhythm as she rolled her hips.

“Ever since that night,” Gwen’s voice lowered into a low and throaty purr that sent a shiver down Morgana’s spine. “All I’ve thought about is pleasuring you as you pleasured me.”

The earth was cool under Morgana’s back but she didn’t feel it. All she could feel was Gwen’s body pressed against hers, the warmth of her hands as they caressed her skin, the suction of lips, the wetness of tongue. Then -

Morgana felt Guinevere _there_.

She gasped, Guinevere‘s name caught in the back of her throat. Quickly, she becomes hot, feverish. Her body wages a war with itself - unable to lie still, her body writhing and undulating beneath Guinevere but desperate to stop herself from moving, wanting to concentrate on nothing but the sensations causing her skin to ripple.

The heat builds within her and Morgana can contain herself no longer. Head thrown back, a keening wail erupts from her mouth as her body bucks and spasms, Guinevere continues until Morgana’s body can produce nothing more than a weak tremble.

Gwen, seeing the quivering of Morgana’s body, grabbed her discarded cloak and draped it over the two of them. “You’re shivering.”

“You make me shiver,” Morgana rolled onto her side, allowing Gwen to mold their bodies together. “Did I do that to you?”

“Well,” Gwen smirked. “I think I did it better.”

“Did you now?” Morgana chuckled, working her fingers between them, sliding between the layers of Gwen’s clothing until she found bare skin. “I guess the lesson here is one never appreciates what one has until it’s taken away.”

“You didn’t like being a boy?”

“Don’t get me wrong, it certainly had its advantages,” she paused to watch Gwen’s eyes flutter as Morgana’s fingers began playing with a nipple. “But nothing compares to this. Being with you as me.”

“I have to admit, I kinda liked you as a boy,” Gwen teased. “Well, except for the stupid beard.”

“What was wrong with my beard? I thought it made me look regal.”

“It may have looked regal but it felt like kissing a mangy dog.”

“A mangy dog?” Morgana pushed Gwen onto her back, pinning the woman beneath her. She pressed their lips together, not stopping until she needed to come up for air. “And what does that feel like?”

“It feels like my lady.”

END


End file.
